


Maybe Tomorrow

by salvatoremikaelson



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Overdose, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvatoremikaelson/pseuds/salvatoremikaelson
Summary: His world stopped making sense a long time ago, but no matter how much he replayed his life through his head, he could never pinpoint the time where it went wrong.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Maybe Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Depression is hard, and this is basically wrote off of life experience in the last few days.
> 
> Not my first fic ever, but it’s been a while.

_ Good morning Beacon Hills! It’s a beautiful day today... _ The radio alarm continued on its chatter about how wonderful this town was, completely oblivious to the weekly murders.

That thought almost made Stiles chuckle. Almost.

Everything was funny to him now. Nothing was funny to him. His world stopped making sense a long time ago, but no matter how much he replayed his life through his head, he could never pinpoint the time where it went wrong.

Staring at his alarm, unmoving, the exhaustion made it’s appearance. He had been up to four am, crying, spacing out, watching movies, and eating his troubles.

It was better to get it out at night, so the chemosignals would be nonexistent by morning. Not that his friends would do anything. Since the Nogistune, they knew it could get bad for him. 

Originally, they had tried to solve his problems and cheer him up. Overtime, they realized it would never go away. His newfound depression was a rollercoaster, sometimes a choking presence, surrounding everything in a dark gloom, sometimes a serene joyous time. It became  _ exhausting _ dealing with his feelings. Exhausting to explain all the reasons he should stay alive. So he stopped telling them about it. He kept it all to himself, locked up until eleven pm when he could realize how fucked up he truly is.

It started getting better for him, less crying, less panic attacks, less pitiful nights. Of course, the rollercoaster was just building up. Giving him the illusion that everything was going to be  _okay_.

The drop hit. 

It hit bad.

Stomach wrenching, unimaginable, pain. Not visible to anyone but himself. 

It could peek through in small ways. The sluggish way he carried himself in the mornings, sacrificing sleep in preference to crying. The inconsistent homework, always completed but either overdone or the bare minimum. Inappropriate laughs in the middle of a conversation, because  _ who wouldn’t start laughing hearing that there’s yet ANOTHER supernatural force trying to kill them all. _

The pack stopped paying attention to the signs. They had already told Stiles that he could always come to them.

Just for them to give shitty advice.

Just for them to blow him off.

Just for him to be ignored one more time.

Stiles shifted in his bed, staring at his ceiling. As his eyes glazed over, his breath shallow, he wondered if the pack would even notice if he wasn’t at school.

His dad had a 48 hour shift to complete at the station, and wouldn’t be home for another day. He could call in sick, spend the day willing himself to just  _move_. Get up. Shower. Take care of himself.

He’d been keeping a notebook of his feelings. Color coded of course, along with a checklist of _“_ _ Did the weak-defenseless-skinny-pathetic-Stiles take care of himself today? ”  _

The previous night, amidst his quiet sobbing, it got really bad. Worse than normal.

He envisioned himself waking up, cleaning his room, getting his shit together, bringing his dad breakfast, taking care of himself, and hanging out with his friends. Going home after school, pre-dialing the number to a neighboring town’s sheriff’s department, and swallowing his recently refilled Adderall. After a few minutes of feeling the overdose about to occur, he would press call and tell them to come pick up his body— and to not tell the other sheriff’s department as he didn’t want his father to see him like this.

His friends would grieve for a few days, then move on. They had bigger things to worry about than a deadweight human.

His father however, he couldn’t curse him with the image of his dead son lying in bed. He’d left him a note, along with a video on a hard drive because Stiles thought that maybe he’d want to see Stiles, one last time. He loved him so much, he was his rock, but Stiles couldn’t breathe anymore.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything without that voice in his head saying  _ “If you died, it would be for the best.” _

Closing his eyes, the relived daydream ended. He was back in his room, late for school, listening to the radio jabber on.

Maybe tomorrow he’d have the energy to carry out his plan.

_ That’s all for today folks, tune in next time to Morning Beacon Hills. _

_~~Static flooding his room, empty. No emotions, no thoughts, just a shell of a boy who once trusted his best friend to protect him.~~ _

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe tomorrow is how I get myself up in the morning.
> 
> Sorry for the sad story.


End file.
